


Hearth

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Biting, Canon Era, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair-pulling, M/M, Magic, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rope Bondage, Subspace, Topspace, also, which is not a tag for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a simple gesture, Voraan offers so much more than just his wrists.</p><p>(Lavellan/Trevelyan PWP. AU where Voraan Lavellan is the Inquisitor and Milo Trevelyan is the captain of Skyhold's guard.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearth

**Author's Note:**

> Voraan Lavellan belongs to [heartsung](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsung/pseuds/heartsung).

Milo reaches the top of the stairs, and his heart nearly stops at what he finds, the breath in his lungs caught in a tug of war between a surprised gasp and an awe-filled sigh. In the light and shadow of the nearby fire, Inquisitor Lavellan is knelt obediently at the foot of his own bed, still as a statue in nothing but his smalls. His red hair drapes over one shoulder, neatly combed and tied into a simple braid.

A beautiful sight.

One that has Milo staring for one too many heartbeats, before it occurs that perhaps he should do something about this clear invitation. This display is surely for him, and his lips pull up into a smirk at the thought, a little breathless and dizzy with it as his blood is redirected southward.

He crosses the room then, making each fall of his boots slow and heavy, reverent and inevitable like the executioner’s drum. The elf’s gaze remains fixed on somewhere that is not quite the floor, though his ears twitch involuntarily, something that might mean he’s nervous or interested or both. Until Milo comes over and puts a hand under his chin, asking Voraan to meet his eyes.

Those eyes sparkle with dancing lights as Voraan looks up at him, his dark skin glowing in sympathy of the fire. They widen in silent pleading as he offers his wrists, marked and unmarked hands locked together as if they were already bound. He wants to be bound.

Something in Milo’s heart twists and contorts itself, reaching for too many emotions at once, trying to be bigger than it actually is. In a simple gesture, Voraan offers so much more than just his wrists.

It’s one of those nights. Milo can tell by the silence, the solemn stillness that greeted him, disrupted only by the unruly crackling of the fire. Sometimes what they do in bed is playful: Voraan laughs and pretends to struggle as Milo overtakes him, growling and pinning him down with his weight. But sometimes it’s like tonight, where the burdens of his office have just become too much, and Voraan is all too willing to let go.

Milo doesn’t really understand it, having never experienced it himself: that place that Voraan can go in his mind, where he is so completely not in control. He’s had it described to him, of course, and he can grasp at the appeal of it, even if it seems a little daunting.

Even more daunting is the idea of being the one in control when the Inquisitor is not.

This is what Voraan silently begs of him, to take up that burden for a little while, and it is a burden that Milo takes up with his whole but heavy heart. With those ice blue eyes looking into him, he knows he would give Voraan whatever he wanted. Even if what he wants is cruelty.

Even if what he wants is pain.

Milo wraps his hands around those wrists, binding them together with nothing but his fingers, as he guides Voraan’s hands down to his lap. He leans down, gives Voraan a sweet kiss on his forehead and whispers into his hair. “Alright, little one,” Milo says, gentle as a breath of air. “Hold just like this.”

Voraan nods in agreement and Milo crouches down, smiles up at him as he pulls their box of toys from underneath the bed. The lid creaks open, and Milo’s eyes flit between its contents and the elf above him as he contemplates his options.

Voraan is watching intently as Milo decides and pulls out the things they’ll need: a length of rope, and then another, and _another_ … Voraan’s brows raise a little in surprise. Then a few clean cloths, a vial of oil, a large glass plug, a bell.

Milo glances up and gives Voraan a small smile when he sees the elf’s ears twitch. Definitely with interest. “Anything not to your liking?” Milo teases, though his intention to give Voraan an out is sincere.

Voraan’s wrists are still pressed together where Milo left them minutes ago. He just shakes his head as he stares down at the things on the bed beside him, eyes cutting towards Milo in a submissive glance.

Milo rises up and rewards him with a soft hand brushing down his arm, soft and reassuring, and then shoves the chest back under the bed and wanders over to the couch nearby. His back turned, he undresses, methodically working at his buttons and buckles. Drawing it out as he turns his thoughts inward, focuses his mind on the task before him. His outer layers are removed and folded neatly on the back of the couch. Then he pulls his tunic up over his head, slowly exposing the skin and muscle of his back, teasing a little, though he would never admit to Voraan that he was purposefully giving him a show. He considers leaving his boots on, but decides against it, toeing them off and arranging them neatly on the floor.

Only his trousers, belt and gloves remain when he comes back to the bed. Even as exposed as he is, he approaches with a look in his eye, authoritative and fierce. He takes Voraan’s face in between his hands, sliding back to his jaw and the base of his skull, holding him there with a firm grip so he couldn’t move his head if he tried. Forcing Voraan to look at him, to feel the burn of his gaze. _You are mine,_ are the words unspoken. _Everything_ _I am is yours_ , the echoing truth.

“Your watchword?”

“Keeper.” Voraan answers immediately. Already he is surrendering to it, sinking into the safety of Milo’s control.

“Good,” Milo whispers, running his thumb along Voraan’s jaw where his head still lays lax in his grip. “On your belly now,” he commands softly, and pulls the invisible bonds on Voraan’s wrists apart so he won’t try to obey without the use of his hands.

He watches as the elf gets settled on his stomach, the length of his body parallel with the foot of the bed. Milo grabs some of the things he’ll need and crawls up after him, setting them to the side within easy reach from where he’s straddling his lover’s thighs.

He grabs one of Voraan’s wrists, then the other, pinning them together behind his back. He won’t tie them yet, doesn’t have to, just a word from Milo, and Voraan will enforce the restriction of movement on himself.

He bends down, pushing Voraan’s face into the mattress, just enough for the elf to feel his strength. Then it begins.

He starts with just an ear, brushing against it with his lips and savoring the way it steals the breath from Voraan’s lungs. He kisses sweetly and then clamps down on that ear with his teeth, slowly biting down until he hears a conflicted whimper. A rewarding flick of his tongue and then he moves further up the ear, to its more sensitive tip, repeats the sequence. A ghosting of lips, a kiss, a bite. Voraan squirms a little underneath him, and Milo allows himself a dark chuckle.

He lets the braid out of Voraan’s hair, slowly running his fingers through the strands until they unweave into wavy locks. Then he twists them around his hand and pulls, forcing Voraan’s head to turn so Milo has access to his other ear. The elf makes a helpless sound that goes straight to his cock. “Yes,” Milo rasps, then clamps his teeth down again, searching for that threshold of pain that has Voraan struggling not to moan this time. _“Yes,”_ Milo almost hisses in answer. “It’s no use to fight it, love. Before I’m finished with you, you’ll be screaming,” he threatens with a wicked smile.

That earns him a full body shudder from Voraan, and at that he turns his grip on Voraan’s hair soft, massaging with his fingers at the base of his skull. The body underneath him relaxes, and he resumes his work.

Milo continues his feast, leaving teeth marks and pink bruises in his wake. He knows most of Voraan’s sensitive spots by now, his ears, the back of his neck where the hair’s been shorn, that place just above his tailbone. _That_ spot in particular has Milo pinning Voraan’s hips to the bed as he lavishes it with attention, delighting in the way the elf writhes without unlocking his hands. He is so _good,_ wanting so eagerly to please him that it makes Milo ache in more ways than one.

Finally, he reaches Voraan’s smalls. Simple cotton things that they are, easily ruined or ripped. Milo considers that, considers how satisfying it would be to rend them in two, leaving Voraan naked and helpless beneath him.

Maybe later.

At the moment he just pulls them slowly, exposing Voraan’s backside inch by tempting inch until the garment is stretched tight around his thighs. Milo sits up and appreciates the sight with both eyes and hands, kneading both cheeks before sinking his teeth into the skin. Voraan doesn’t hold back this time, and the echo of his moan fills the room.

With his lover properly worked up, Milo turns his attention to more meticulous details. Removing one glove, he works Voraan open with oil and fingers, preparing him for the plug that will keep him on edge through the rest of what they do. Then the smallclothes are put back in place. He bends Voraan’s legs at the knee, hands steadily weaving knots that leave the elf’s calves tied to his thighs. In this position Voraan’s legs are easily spread, but Milo leaves them closed together for now.

Then he stands, keeping a hand on Voraan’s back to keep him grounded as he steps to the other side of the bed, where Voraan’s red hair is dangling off the edge. He guides Voraan’s arms around so he can prop up on his elbows, then weaves another length of rope into a pair of cuffs around Voraan’s wrists. Lastly, he closes the bell inside his palm.

Voraan knows exactly what that means. He shudders, panting as he closes his hand tighter around the bell and hungrily licks his lips. Watches, enraptured, as Milo takes his time undoing his belt. He doesn’t take out his cock until Voraan’s back is heaving with it, his breathing desperate and his eyes wide.

Milo's cock is throbbing in time with his pounding heart, leaking and swollen and heavy in his hand. He doesn’t need the help but gives himself a few teasing strokes anyway, before slowly feeding it into Voraan’s mouth with a gloved hand in his hair, and that sharp look in his eye, reminding him: _you are mine._

Voraan closes his eyes then, savoring it and all Milo can do is watch in awe and whisper the softest of praises as the elf adjusts his jaw to accommodate his size. He knows Voraan doesn’t want it gentle, though, and so he soon begins thrusting, his pace just faster than what Voraan can keep up with. It must be a full minute before he pulls away to let Voraan breathe.

He loves having Voraan like this: drunk off of Milo’s voracious affections, moaning just from a hand twisting into his hair. Mouth open and wanting, silently begging for more of his cock, to be fucked rough and ruined with it, lips swollen red and throat sore.

Milo shoves his cock back in between those lips and takes a moment to just _feel_ the power that hums in his veins. His skin is buzzing with it; his cock twitching with it, Voraan swallowing the arousal that leaks from its tip. Milo makes a low, appreciative noise in his throat. This is better than being drunk: he is completely focused, more in control than he ever is, of his own body, his own mind.

There was a time when he shied away from this feeling, the heady swell of his ego, that feral, sadistic surge as his darkest desires threaten to break free. There was a time when it overwhelmed him and filled him with paralyzing shame. He knows better now. He may be playing with fire, but Voraan is the hearth that will keep him from losing control. He can do this, he can chase this feeling without taking advantage of Voraan and his gift of surrender.

He _will._

He thrusts hard into Voraan’s mouth as that thirst for power surges within him, making him sneer. Voraan is so bloody perfect like this, perfect for _him,_ needy and pliant and moaning around his cock. Every intake of breath, every time he writhes against his bonds and into the sheets, every twitch of muscle, Milo studies with intent. The way his head strains forward to meet every thrust, the little sounds he’s making. Voraan is _enjoying_ this, and Milo can’t help but want to push the limits of what Voraan would enjoy.

He shoves deep into Voraan’s throat, the elf looking up to him so they lock eyes, taker and taken, _you are mine,_ _mine, MINE_. The slightest flutter of lids, the most imperceptible sign of distress. But Voraan doesn’t gag, just takes him beautifully, like he was made to do it. Milo strokes his hair and tells him so, and the distress melts away. He pulls out and Voraan pouts like he’s been denied the last drop of water in the Hissing Wastes. His hips buck forward like they only do when he’s close.

Milo falls to his knees then, taking Voraan’s face into his hands. “You want to come?” he half-offers, half-taunts in between labored breaths. “You want to come for me like this?”

Voraan’s own breathing is ragged now, and he looks at Milo, pleading, he wants, he _wants._ Milo threads his fingers through his hair and presses soft kisses to his face. “It’s alright, come for me, you’re being so good, you can come --”

Voraan lurches forward and catches his mouth in a kiss then, drawing from Milo a long, surprised groan. He grinds against the bed, whimpering his release against Milo’s lips, and Milo kisses Voraan through it, nibbling a little to keep him on the edge between pleasure and pain. But mostly he just lets Voraan take from him what he needs, to drink Milo in, as if to drown in that feeling of being overtaken that only comes with a thorough tangling of tongues.

As Voraan’s lips go lax and smear against his own, Milo pulls away, finds Voraan’s rope-bound hands. Checks to make sure they’re not too cold. Kisses his fingertips.

“How’re you doing, little one?”

Voraan nods, head slumped against the bed, but testing his extremities, wiggling his fingers and toes. Veins of green glow through where the Mark lays dormant under his skin.

“Talk to me,” Milo reminds him, a gentle admonishment.

“... I’m okay,” Voraan answers. His voice is raw, and Milo smiles proudly, knowing why. It’s enough to remind him he hasn’t come yet, his cock jutting out of his trousers, painfully hard.

He brushes Voraan's hair out of his eyes. “You’re doing so well. You want to keep going?”

Voraan nods pliantly.

“You want to be fucked?” Milo teases, just a little, prying him to answer with words so he doesn’t sink too deep.

“Please,” Voraan rasps, and swallows hard. _“Please…”_

“Alright then,” Milo acquiesces, rising and dramatically pulling off his gloves. One last stroke of that long, fiery hair and a kiss on the head and Milo walks behind him, keeping a hand on his back so Voraan always knows where he is.

Suddenly, he bends over, takes Voraan up into his arms and hauls him upright, re-positioning him so he’s back on his knees. Voraan leans into him, making no protest of being man-handled like this, just hangs his head low under his beautiful mess of hair.

After shucking off the rest of his clothes, Milo crawls back up onto the bed. He finally rends Voraan’s ruined smallclothes, tossing them across the room somewhere before turning his attention to the plug inside him. He grabs hold of the base, fucking him with it a few times before pulling it completely out, reveling in the look of shock on Voraan’s face. He quickly applies more oil to his cock and enters him, filling him in one aggressively paced thrust.

Voraan is silent through all of this, just breathing to keep his body open, tight and warm around Milo’s length. Trembling with his head slightly lolled back, lids heavy over his eyes.

Perfect.

Milo gives him one sharp thrust just to warn him of what’s coming, collecting all his hair in one hand so he can watch his face. Voraan’s breath hitches and Milo counts a few heartbeats before the elf remembers to breathe again. Another thrust, and Voraan doesn’t make the same mistake twice. So Milo pulls on his hair hard and unleashes on him, taking him at a brutal pace.

Nothing exists but them at this moment, the burdens of war and the billowing cold that ever press against the walls of their haven all fade away. There is only Milo, and Voraan, and where they are joined, the present moment and what might happen in the next. He keeps his eyes trained on Voraan’s eyes, watching as they roll back in his head, as his lids shudder open and closed. Devouring every sign of pleasure but still wary for any signs of pain.

Well. The wrong _kind_ of pain, something other than the hard twist of his hair, or the nails raking along Voraan’s stomach. Something other than a graze of teeth along his neck or a bruising grip on his thigh. But Voraan is pliant against him, still pushing back into every thrust as tied up as he is. So Milo pushes further. Takes his hand out of Voraan’s hair and shoves two fingers in his mouth. Voraan sucks on them like they’re drenched in the honeysuckle he enjoys so much, and Milo's mouth is practically watering, having never seen a vision so delicious and sweet.

Still, he pushes further. Takes his fingers away and wraps his hand around Voraan’s throat, threatening to take away his air. Voraan shouts in ecstasy, going tense in Milo’s arms. The air around them becomes tighter, crisper, and Milo’s hairs begin to stand on end, tingling with magic.

Milo hums in affectionate recognition. Moves into him a little slower, running a soothing hand along his stomach and down to Voraan's cock even as he tightens the hand around his neck. _“I know you,”_ he growls, equal parts possessive and proud. “I know your body better than anyone ever has, or ever will.” He presses close, inhaling the scent of him like he’s going to _consume_ him, rubbing his nose into the little droplets of sweat in Voraan’s hair. “I know just how to touch you, to take you apart and put you back together. I could _break_ you, and make you love the breaking --”

“Nnnh?” Voraan whimpers, as if it's a terrifyingly good idea.

He could. He _has --_

 _“No,_ my heart. I think not. Not tonight,” Milo muses, grinning with wicked glee. “Tonight I’m gonna make you come so hard, it summons a _storm.”_ Then he grips his throat even tighter to emphasize the threat. He squeezes roughly at the head of Voraan’s cock and leans down to sink his teeth into the curve of his shoulder, applying pressure on all fronts until Voraan jerks against him and comes apart. His mouth stretches open around an unvoiced scream, eyes blazing purple as lightning dances across his skin. It blooms outward until Milo can feel it everywhere, prickling on the edge of pain. He'll swear later, when he thinks on it, that he heard the sky crack open above their heads.

Milo lets up, freeing Voraan’s throat and turning his searing bite into a kiss, whispering encouragements into his skin. He twists the hand around Voraan’s cock to wring the last of it out of him. “Yes, that’s it, fuck, you feel so good, come for me, sweetheart, so good -- _OH -- Ohhhh yes!”_

He shouts as his own orgasm hits him then, and he picks up into an almost punishing pace as he comes roaring and spills into Voraan, holding nothing back at the end because he deserves everything Milo has to give.

 

He only allows himself to bask in the afterglow, devoid of thought, for a moment. He shakes loose of it, only for a twinge of guilt to clench at his heart. Fear that it was too much, that he went too far. He is frozen for heartbeat upon heartbeat, listening to Voraan breathe.

Milo forces himself off the bed and around to where he can see Voraan’s face. He has to see, has to know he’s alright. He checks his eyes intensely, soothing him with a hand on his knee. “Alright, love?”

“Mm-hm,” comes the reply, and a weak nod, Voraan’s gaze unfocused, floating aimlessly like clouds.

Milo grabs a nearby cloth and gently cleans them both up. “You ready for me to untie you?”

An insistent shake of the elf’s head causes Milo to stitch his brows together in thought. “Hmm. How about I just untie your legs for now, so you can lie down.”

Voraan considers this for a moment, then grunts in the affirmative, barely nodding his head.

Milo could have the ropes loose within seconds, but takes his time, smoothing the transition between bound and unbound. He then scoops Voraan into his arms, and can’t help but smile as the elf snuggles against him, seeking out warmth and safety as he’s carried further up the bed.

It’s hard to see bruises on Voraan’s dark skin, especially in the dying light of the fire. Still, Milo looks him over, needing that assurance that he’s done no lasting harm, to soothe the inevitable ache of guilt in his heart. Voraan tolerates this for a little while, too blissed out to protest, but finally pulls at Milo to get his attention, fighting to focus with his glacier blue eyes.

“You were so good to me,” Voraan says in an impossibly fierce whisper, twining their fingers together and squeezing hard. A forgotten bell rings quietly and is silenced between their palms. 

Even with his wrists still bound, he pulls Milo down to the bed with him, snuggling once again into his chest. “It was just what I needed. I’m alright.”

Milo nods, willing himself to believe it. He pulls the blankets up, wraps an arm around him and presses a kiss to his brow.

He gave Voraan what he needed. He _was_ what he needed.

And he will be, when Voraan awakens from his short doze, adorably bleary eyed and warm. When he is past all worldly cares, and needs to be reminded to eat. When he comes back to himself and feels like talking about the burdens weighing on his mind and heart. Milo will be here. Because Voraan deserves everything, everything Milo has to give.

And so much more.

 


End file.
